


Be Comfortable, Creature

by philos_manthanein



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Nero (Devil May Cry), Canon-Typical Violence, Dadgil Week (Devil May Cry), Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philos_manthanein/pseuds/philos_manthanein
Summary: Vergil learns that babies are hard.
Relationships: Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 244





	1. It's Natural to Be Afraid

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【授权翻译】Be Comfortable, Creature](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25612054) by [MeCreater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeCreater/pseuds/MeCreater)



> This is my first genfic I've posted in a very long time. I debated a lot what kind of story I wanted to do for Dadgil Week. I came up with this little AU series idea about Nero being a genetic experiment created from Vergil's DNA and Vergil finding him and raising him. Vergil's about 18-ish at the beginning. I know I'm usually a shipfic writer, but this one's gonna be pure genfic family feels. Hope you guys like it!
> 
> Oh yeah, all the titles are taken from Explosions In The Sky songs.

Vergil knew the moment the child was born. It was a surprise only in that the infant lived - for the moment. The Order wasn’t as clever as they thought they were. He’d known about the experiment - and permitted it - curious to see how inviable his progeny would be. Even as a teen himself, Vergil was well aware his abhorrently mixed genetics were likely to render the chance of healthy offspring null.

Feeling the baby’s call shrilling in his blood was unpleasant. He still ignored it. Any creature born of himself and whatever other involuntary genetic source the buffoons on Fortuna could grab would be a weak, malformed thing. It was natural the sad semi-demon cried out for him with its few living breaths. 

But then...

A week. Two. A month. Six. Time crawled and Vergil’s instincts scratched at him from the inside. His child lived. It knew _he_ lived. It reached through the weave of arcane space to find him. Desperation. Wherever his scion was, it was miserable. 

Fortuna.

The lab in the castle's belly was cold and wet. Machines hummed and clicked; lights flashing some indecipherable coded signals. These were medical, as opposed to the security systems earlier on in the complex. Didn’t do them any good. Vergil flicked the blood from his blade before sheathing it and approaching the screaming baby in its sterile crib.

A boy with a thin patch of white hair and pale skin save for the redness of his face from crying. Stickers and wires were attached to his skin and lead over to one machine. His left arm was dotted with slight bruises. The right… rough dark scales about his elbow and stretching down his forearm one way and up his bicep the other.

“You have an interesting birthmark.” Vergil mused to the baby.

The baby looked up at him with wide, milky-blue eyes. It stopped crying for a moment. And then it started again, shrieking and flailing its fat arms and legs wildly. Vergil frowned and his headache fired up again.

“Be quiet, creature.” Vergil grumbled down at the baby who resolved himself to _not_ heed his father and continue bawling with all his might. “I’m here now. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

The baby continued screaming, red-faced and reaching for nothing. Vergil growled and turned away. He headed for the exit. He’d had enough of it. If he would be cursed with the ache of this brat’s suffering at least he could do it away from the _noise_. But the further he strayed, the stronger the pain grew until he was near to collapsing and sick to his stomach. Angry, Vergil whirled back and stalked back to the crib.

“Stop this. What do you want?” He seethed, his voice becoming lost under the boy’s wailing. 

Vergil put his hand upon the handle of his katana. He gripped it, ready to draw. The baby still cried.

“I’ll rid myself of you.” Vergil warned, belatedly realizing at that moment how inane it was that he was arguing with an _infant_. 

Sighing, Vergil drew Yamato. He had no choice. If the child was so miserable regardless of his presence, and he were to suffer as well for allowing it to live, then… He held up the blade to make a clean strike.

The baby stopped crying.

Vergil watched as the boy reached his right hand up toward the blade, which was arcanely clean and shiny now. It cooed softly as it tried to make a grab for it. Vergil lifted the blade a little higher to keep it out of reach.

“It’s sharp, you idiot.” Vergil growled, pulling the blade back even more as the child attempted to sit up so it could reach more.

Vergil put his left hand out to keep the tiny moron back. That was apparently enough to be a distraction, because the baby focused instead on latching its two plump hands onto Vergil’s fingers. A powerful grip - he could admit he felt a slight flicker of pride. The baby brought one of his fingers to its mouth and slobbered all over it. Vergil’s sense of pride waned.

“Let go.” Vergil demanded and was ignored. “Let. Go.”

He yanked his hand back. Immediately the baby’s face scrunched up into a deep frown. It started sobbing. Vergil’s headache came crawling back, which was actually the first reminder that it _had_ left. Growling, he sheathed his katana again. Then with his newly freed two hands, he reached to remove the sticky pads from the child’s torso. It took a few moments to fight the flailing, but once those were stripped away, Vergil grabbed the boy up under the arms and lifted.

He stared at the baby. The baby stared back. It stopped wailing. Then it giggled and kicked its bare feet in the air. Vergil tried to set it back down in the crib, but it whined in distress. So he lifted it again and brought it closer to himself. It squealed happily. Begrudgingly, Vergil held it against his chest. It tried to wrap its short, chunky arms around his neck as it laid its head on his shoulder. 

All was quiet then.

“Fine,” Vergil huffed and turned to the exit once again, carrying his son with him. 


	2. What Do You Go Home To?

Retrieving the child was a mistake, Vergil thought as he tried to balance his son against his chest with one hand and pick out baby formula with the other. He could have killed it and saved himself a (literal) headache. Why hadn’t he…

“Ba-Da!” The six-month-old shouted with a wiggle as he lifted his head to look around the grocery store. “Ba-da ba-da!”

“I don’t know what that means,” Vergil mumbled as he tossed one package of baby formula into his shopping cart.

He picked up the book that lay in the child seat of the cart. The baby refused to sit down and Vergil wasn’t about to draw even more attention to them by the brat’s shrill bawling. So he carried the boy the best he could and used the seat to hold a book entitled “The Baby Is Here: What Now?”. Some manual about raising children, full of nauseatingly affectionate opinions about why babies were  _ blessings _ or  _ miracles _ and not at all curses or hellspawn. 

Vergil felt the boy flop forward against his shoulder and chew at his shirt collar again. He cringed at the feeling of slobber soaking into the cloth. Parenthood was indignity. 

“Aw, what a sweetheart!” Came an unfamiliar voice that Vergil immediately hated with every bone in his body. “Hello cutie pie!”

He glared at the woman who was addressing his son. She was unremarkable. Some plain human with a shopping cart full of miscellany. Someone without a sense of self-preservation because she continued to linger and converse at the infant even though the boy turned his head away and curled a little closer to Vergil’s body avoidantly. 

“Oh, are you shy? So cute!” The woman fawned. “What’s his name?”

It occurred to Vergil then that his son didn’t have a name. Therefore, he didn’t really have an answer; not that she deserved one for asking. So he just continued to glower at her until she nervously scampered away with her groceries.

The baby raised his head then to look at Vergil’s face curiously.

“Ba-da?” It said.

“Yes, I agree.” Vergil replied, unknowing the actual question but feeling that was the correct answer.

\---

Vergil’s home wasn’t as ostentatious as he would have preferred, but it was far better off than what others his age could afford. He liked flashy things. Status symbols, even human ones, were a show of power. Perhaps not as viscerally intimidating as actual physical strength, but Vergil knew too well the power of the psychological. 

Being barely 18 made for a lot of assumptions by human society. His landlord didn’t want to believe he was good to rent a luxury apartment until Vergil quietly handed over the entirety of a year’s worth of rent. The man stopped asking questions then and handed over the keys.

Vergil had enough money to live comfortably. He always knew ways to make more. The human black market traded in far more than devil arms. There was always something immoral in hot demand. Humanity’s taste for sin funded Vergil’s plans.

He had plans…

“Ba-DA!” The baby shouted from the other side of the sofa.

Vergil found he could set the brat down now, so long as he gave it something to chew on and didn’t leave its sight line. It was nursing a bottle of formula, though it occasionally pulled the nipple from its toothless mouth to shout its one unintelligible word. It seemed very proud of the fact it could say that.

“Quiet, demon,” Vergil sighed tiredly, “I’m reading.”

“Baaaa.” The baby cooed, then shoved its bottle back into its mouth. 

Turning his attention back to the baby manual, Vergil scanned through the chapter on development milestones. By all appearances, his son was on track and healthy. Well, save for the fact his right arm carried a demonic hallmark. Vergil dismissed that - they wrote the book with human children in mind and the arm didn’t seem to bother the boy at all. In fact, Vergil quite liked the imperfection. It set his progeny apart from humanity.

But did he want to keep the child at all?

Having a strong heir was an agreeable thing. That this child even survived its birth - let alone grew healthy - was something extraordinary. If Vergil could raise it and train it, then it could be an exemplary pawn. They could awaken their demonic souls and rule the planes together, King and Prince.

A plastic baby bottle sailed from across the sofa and hit Vergil on the side of his head. This squeaking childish laughter followed. Growling, Vergil grabbed the bottle up. He filled with the urge to chuck it back with all his might. The baby only squealed with more giggles, flailing, then suddenly lost balance and fell off to the side.

Vergil lunged over and grabbed the infant by the back of his one-piece, yanking him back up onto the safety of the sofa cushion before he could land on his soft, aggravatingly delicate skull. Feeling his leaping pulse settle once the baby was safe, Vergil heaved another exhausted sigh. His hands rested at the child’s sides and his forehead lightly bumped its soft belly.

Not worth it. The baby was a mistake.

“Ba-da.” It cooed, chubby hands reaching to cling to his ears.

“Stop it.” Vergil begged.

“Daaaa.” The hands pulled, and it actually hurt a bit.

“Stop.” Vergil grumbled and pried the baby’s hands away, which made it fuss.

Vergil sat up straight, then pulled the infant into his arms. His book and the bottle had fallen to the floor during the rescue. He left them there. The baby immediately wriggled about until it was resting against his chest with its face tucked into the spot between his collarbone and shoulder. It seemed to like it there the most.

“You’re a tyrant.” Vergil complained as he patted the boy’s back to dutifully burp him like the book had directed.

_ Oh. _

“Nero.” Vergil finally named his son with a smirk.

Nero settled against Vergil’s chest with a gentle sigh. “Da-da.”


	3. Human Qualities

Nero learned to crawl. It was a nightmare. 

Tiny hands reached for cabinet handles, wanting to explore every content of every drawer. He learned by touch. Unfortunately, his favorite touch sensor was his _mouth_. The chapter in Vergil’s manual entitled “Baby Proofing” became heavily bookmarked with a rainbow of sticky notes.

Nero’s resilience remained a mystery. As a child, Vergil had quickly recovered from brutal injuries with ease thanks to his advanced demonic healing. It would make sense if Nero also inherited that genetic factor, but there was no guarantee. Vergil hadn’t the slightest idea who or _what_ Nero’s other parent was. It would _probably_ be a terrible idea to test the now 9-month-old by trial and error, lest he be far more human than his little demonic arm let on.

That arm, however. The scales had stretched further over the weeks to Nero’s small hand and fingers. Between the rough scales lay softer, blue, vein-like structures that glowed in varying degrees. They seemed to brighten when Vergil was especially close. The upper tips of Nero’s fingers were still human-like, but Vergil predicted the prettier color of Nero’s scales would cover those soon enough. Maybe they would turn into claws. He was admittedly excited to find out.

None of the changes seemed to bother Nero. When he wasn’t busy trying to sample all of Vergil’s apartment, the boy spent many long minutes sucking and gnawing on his own arm. Well, that and dexterously lifting his own feet up to chew on those, too. Vergil purchased a collection of pacifiers. 

Besides crawling, Nero was pulling himself up to stand - with the help of furniture. He especially liked to do this when music was playing, so he could engage in some sort of off-rhythm, bouncy, wiggle-dance. Vergil looked it up and found that was apparently normal, even if he couldn’t keep a single beat. So, he got into the habit of turning on the radio and letting it play throughout the day. Entertaining Nero made it easier for Vergil to work from home, even if it meant he had to change his usual stations because Nero was more enthralled by the music his father didn’t particularly like. Typical. 

“Dada!” Nero shouted one day, using the desk chair to stand and then tugging at Vergil’s sleeve to get his attention. “Dadadada!”

Vergil looked away from his computer, where he had been exchanging emails about moving illicit materials across international borders. (For certain, other stay-at-home parents were engaged in similar ventures, even if they called them “mail-order businesses”.) Nero grinned widely to have Vergil’s attention. He had some short, white teeth now at least. No fangs, though. Disappointing.

“What is it, Nero?” Vergil asked.

“Ah! Ah!” Nero babbled as he brought his hand to his mouth repeatedly.

“You’re hungry?” Vergil translated, to which Nero squealed happily and bounced up and down.

It was late in the afternoon. Vergil supposed they could eat. He didn’t _need_ to, but Nero ate better by example. The book also stressed the importance of “family meals” for child development. He still thought all the emotional glurge was overdone, but he also didn’t have any tangible evidence that the advice was _wrong_ , either. 

Vergil carried Nero into the kitchen and set him into his little plastic high chair. Turning to the kitchen proper, he made sandwiches. Peanut butter and jelly. Two, because Vergil’s own diet had become as embarrassingly unsophisticated as his wardrobe and everything else. 

“Tookee!” Nero demanded joyously behind him.

“We aren’t having cookies for lunch.” Vergil replied.

Nero blew a raspberry at him. Vergil rolled his eyes. 

He used to have visions of dining with aristocracy.

After cutting off the crusts (because Nero would tear them off and throw them on the floor if he didn’t), Vergil brought their plates and two cups of water to the table. Nero took his sippy cup first and sucked down some ice water gleefully. Vergil watched as the boy then examined his sandwich. He deemed the appraisal worthy and promptly shoved one cut triangle slice of sandwich into his mouth, mushing the filling into his chin and cheeks too. 

Vergil thought of his little brother. He shook his head. 

“Dada!” Nero waved, laughing and pointing at Vergil’s plate with a peanut butter covered finger.

“Don’t rush me, demon,” Vergil complained even though a slight smile twitched across his mouth. 

Lunch finished, and Vergil began cleaning up. First the dishes, then Nero, because the dishes didn’t wiggle nearly as much. 

“Tookee!” Nero demanded again as his father wiped sticky grape jelly from his face.

“No, no cookies.” Vergil sighed, scrubbing gently (and how the hell did he get jelly on his _ear_?).

“Tookee.” Nero pouted with the most furrowed of brows.

“ _Later_ , Nero.” Vergil insisted, then lifted the boy from the chair and set him on the floor.

There was still plenty to clean and work to attend to. Fortunately, Nero seemed to give up on his quest for cookies and crawled off toward the living room. Sighing with relief, Vergil finished cleaning up then snuck off to his office room again. With any luck Nero’s full belly would quickly lead him to take a nap, and Vergil could steal a few precious hours of relative silence.

Vergil should have known his luck was shit.

Shattering glass followed by the screams of a terrified toddler came from the kitchen. Vergil leaped up despite the dizzying headache that was cracking through his skull. He hadn’t felt one of _those_ since Fortuna.

Rushing into the kitchen, Vergil got the distinct feeling he was baring witness to a crime in progress. All across the tile floor lay the remains of a glass jar and many broken chocolate chip cookies. His eyes darted to find Nero, up higher over the smashed jar, dangling from a cabinet door by… a ghost arm?

Yes, _two_ spectral, blue wing-like arms had sprouted from Nero’s tiny back. One had a clawed hand gripped tightly around the handle of the cabinet door. It seemed to be the only thing keeping Nero from falling onto the hard floor and shattered glass. Nero’s screaming, terrified cries grew louder. The hand slipped.

Vergil darted over, bare feet dashing directly through the mess. He snatched Nero up swiftly, pulling his son to his chest and stumbling away. Nero continued crying, trembling in Vergil’s arms. Vergil’s feet trailed blood all the way to the dining table. The glass cuts hurt, but would heal up fine. His attention focused on sitting Nero down on the table and looking him over to make sure he wasn’t gravely injured. 

Despite shrieking like he was being murdered, Nero appeared to be fine. The fall he almost took, coupled with the loud break of the glass, must have scared him. Vergil grit his teeth then, anger leaking in to replace his worry. He grabbed Nero by his real arms (the blue ones still lingered), snarling.

“Why’d you do that you stupid little brat?!” Vergil’s chest panged unhappily and his voice shook.

He was angry. So incredibly _pissed off_. What if Nero hadn’t saved himself? What if…

Vergil pulled Nero close, arms wrapping around his son. He held Nero there firmly, tucking his boy into his favorite spot. Nero continued sobbing and sniffling, but held his tiny arms around Vergil’s neck. Vergil felt something slide over his back, a cold sensation like hands. Nero’s wing-arms were hugging him too. 

“Dada…” Nero whimpered, clinging.

“Don’t do that again, Nero,” Vergil replied, his warning tone softened considerably. “You have to listen to me. I don’t tell you ‘no’ just to be mean.”

Nero hiccuped a little, then snuggled in close. “Dadaaa.”

Vergil sighed and the tension in his head and shoulders fell. He just sat there quietly holding Nero and feeling Nero calm down too. The spectral hands at his back felt strong and oddly comforting. He would marvel at them later. For the moment he wanted to sit with his son and wait for the cuts on his feet to push out the glass and heal. 

“You’re a nightmare,” Vergil mumbled and then - surprising himself - he laughed softly.

Vergil had learned to care.


	4. Remember Me As A Time Of Day

Vergil didn’t know Nero’s birthday. He recalled the time of year when that first uneasy feeling struck, but not an exact date. Why would he keep track of something like that? Especially back then, when he’d fully expected the child to die quickly.

Now it was a passing observation. He’d been following along with the parenting manual (discovering that many of the milestones within were more suggestions than hard facts). It just so happened they had crossed into the “1-year-old” chapter. So Vergil thought about Nero’s first year, how he’d missed the first half of it, and how he wasn’t so sure when exactly Nero had been born.

It didn’t really matter. 

He watched as Nero toddled by, arms wheeling in the air to keep his balance. His pacifier fell from his mouth, stopping mid-chest thanks to the little elastic rope attached to it and clipped to his overalls. Slowly, the boy stooped to grab at his favorite toy laying on the floor: a stuffed black cat that he’d become enamored with in the grocery store claw machine, which took Vergil five tries to get the demon to stop crying for it. 

“Meow-Meow!” Nero huffed out the less-than-creative name he had for the thing.

Eventually the toddler just plopped down on the floor and scooted over until the cat was in reach. Nero pulled the toy to his chest, strangling it with a hug. His demon scales had overtaken all the fingers on his right hand, as predicted, ending in tiny curved claws that had left their marks across the poor toy’s synthetic fur. 

Nero attempted to get back up while holding Meow-Meow. It was a failed effort. Pouting, Nero looked over to Vergil, who was sitting on the sofa with his bulky laptop. (He’d learned his lesson about letting a toddler out of his direct eyesight.)

“What?” Vergil asked even though he knew what the child wanted. “You got yourself down there, you can figure out a way to get back up.”

Nero’s bottom lip wibbled a little, but then his brow knitted into a look of determination. He grunted and tried to lift himself with just his legs, falling back each time. Then he switched to hold Meow-Meow with one hand and push up with the other. That worked slightly better, but not enough to keep Nero from toppling back. 

Frustrated, the boy gave another loud grunt and suddenly his small, spectral wings snapped out from his back. Using the claws at the end of the joints, he easily pushed himself up and stood upright with his cat in hand. He looked to Vergil again, beaming.

“Well done, Nero.” Vergil encouraged him with a nod.

“Yay Newo!” Nero cheered himself and snuggled Meow-Meow tight. 

He really had developed so quickly. Right on schedule - in fact, he was early in many ways. Vergil would proudly proclaim it was all his influence, but he knew that wasn’t entirely accurate. His son was a clever monster all on his own. A touch sensitive, too. Tenderhearted in a way that was uncomfortable, because Vergil couldn’t forget that he was a soft child once, hungering for attention and gentle words. 

_Eva baked them separate birthday cakes, so they could both feel special._

Vergil’s gaze lingered on Nero for a moment as the toddler obliviously waddled around with his toy. Then he turned his attention back to his laptop. There would be arrangements to make. A certain artifact he’d been pursuing for _years_ would soon be in his grasp. Vergil pulled up his calendar application to set a reminder - not that he needed to be reminded but there was something satisfying about watching days tick down toward a goal.

Then he scrolled forward a bit. He scanned the dates. It didn’t really matter much, so he went with the first one that stood out.

_April 1 - Nero’s Birthday_

\---

He should have just bought a damn cake. Vergil frowned at the recipe book laid out on the counter. It had always looked so easy. He could cook for himself just fine. He’d just never had a reason to _bake_. Why was it any different from making herb-crusted salmon or a spinach frittata? Why was his frosting melting?!

POP!

Vergil jumped and whirled around to see Nero had popped his fifth out of a dozen balloons. He’d cried over the first two. Now it had turned into a game - to see how fast he could pull one down by a string and then pop it with his tiny claws.

“Boom!” Nero squealed with delight.

Sighing, Vergil turned back to squint at his book. There had to be some way to troubleshoot a cake. Some missed step he could use to correct the lumpy, melty disaster uglying up his counter. 

At his side, Nero had toddled up to see what his father was doing. Small hands reached and tip-toes stretched, but he still came up short. Vergil watched with an irresistible amusement as Nero defaulted to using his wings again, stretching to grab the edge of the counter and then lifting himself up to sit on it. Vergil reached out to help scoot his son further, so he was safely back from the edge. 

“Dada!” Nero giggled happily, patting Vergil’s arm with big open-palmed slaps. 

“What do you think?” Vergil asked sardonically, gesturing at the mountain of yellow cake topped with gloopy white frosting. 

Nero regarded the cake seriously for a moment - as if he were an art appraiser, tilting his head this way and that to get a look at all angles. His bottom lip stuck out a little as he thought. Vergil could almost see the cogs turning in his soft little baby brain. Then Nero perked up with an idea and he grinned.

“Bwoo!” Nero exclaimed with raised hands. 

“Blue?” Vergil interpreted curiously.

Nero nodded with great exaggeration. “Bwoo!”

Vergil looked back at the cake. “I suppose blue would make a slight improvement.”

It was his favorite color. And Nero’s too, apparently, if only because it was the only color he could say with any regularity at the moment. So Vergil grabbed the bowl that contained the rest of his failed frosting. He added two drops of blue food coloring and mixed it in. Next to him, Nero watched with growing wonder as the bright colors folded into the white and made a soft sky shade. 

This was all mostly for amusement’s sake. Nothing could really make this disaster look like the cake in the book, nor like the ones Vergil’s mother had made. Vergil’s irritation faded, though. He tried to let go of the notion that Nero’s cake had to be perfect. It didn’t really matter.

Just before going to layer on some blue, Vergil hesitated. He glanced to Nero. Even if his birthday was a flop, the boy could probably get some fun out of it still.

“Here.” Vergil said, holding out a frosting-covered spatula. “Let’s see if you can do any better.” 

“Yay! Bwoo!” Nero exclaimed and grasped the spatula.

He immediately started waving it in the air, flinging the frosting absolutely everywhere. Vergil held an arm up to shield himself, but the frosting still hit him on the cheek before splatting on his forearm. Luckily he’d stopped wearing his “good clothes” around the house many months before. The shirt he wore, while white, was plain enough to discard if it became stained.

“The cake, Nero. _The cake_.” Vergil chided.

“Oowh.” Nero nodded sagely then promptly slapped the spatula down full force on top of the cake.

Sighing, Vergil shook his head. He took the bowl of frosting and slid it closer to his son. Nero went ham, scooping up enormous globs of sugar goo, plopping it on thick, and slapping it around without rhyme or reason. The cake no longer resembled anything close to a cake anymore. Nero laughed the entire time. 

Vergil stood by and watched his son work. He took a moment to pull back his hair, fastening it with a rubber band that had come from his office. His locks had grown too long to hold back properly with only hair products the way he liked. Soon he would either have to get a haircut, or finally settle for buying proper hair ties. He hadn’t had the time. There were more important plans.

Once Nero ran out of frosting, he waved the spatula again to get Vergil’s attention. Vergil glanced over the mess skeptically. 

“You thoroughly wrecked it.” Vergil replied. “Congratulations.”

“Bwoo, Dada. Bwoooo!” Nero corrected him.

“Ah, yes. A Wreck in _Blue_. It’s art.” Vergil shrugged with a slight laugh. “I suppose all that’s left is to eat it, then.” 

Nero’s face lit up as if it hadn’t even occurred to him that cake was food. Immediately he chucked the spatula away, and it clattered across the counter. Turning, Nero took both hands and grabbed two fistfuls of disaster-cake. He squealed and then stuffed his face full. 

Vergil smile-sighed and leaned against the counter. He watched Nero annihilate his cake. A bath would definitely be in order. It would be a pain to scrub the kitchen, too. All for a birthday Nero probably wouldn’t remember.

It didn’t really matter.

\---

All cleaned up and crashing from a sugar buzz, Nero climbed into his bed all by himself. It used to be a proper crib, but the frame had become more of a decoration than anything with Nero’s expert ability to climb out of it. So Vergil had converted it into a toddler bed. At least it made it easier to read to his son without having to lean over a railing. 

Vergil was just about to sit on the edge of the bed with Nero’s bedtime book, when the boy cast him a tensely worried expression. 

“Dada. Meow-Meow!” Nero lifted his hands and made a grabby motion.

“Oh, right. Meow-Meow.” Vergil sighed and stood back up.

He found the stuffed cat laying in the living room and promptly brought it into Nero’s room. Nero immediately brightened when he entered. He wiggled happily and clapped his hands.

“Yay Dada!” Nero cheered.

A slight sparkle of warmth tickled inside Vergil’s chest without his permission. He handed the toy to his son. Once he’d sat back on the bed, Nero climbed up against his side and hugged him tight. Vergil settled back against the wall, letting one arm wrap around Nero’s back while the other hand held the book. They were about halfway through “Through the Looking Glass”. 

Nero fell asleep quickly. Vergil quietly closed the book. He didn’t move for a few moments. It had been an interminable day. He just wanted to rest there for a bit. 

He’d tried. Vergil didn’t know the first thing about how to be an actual parent. It had come so easily for his mother. She had those peculiar human sentimentalities that made all of his birthdays feel special, even if he had to share with his younger twin. Vergil only had the one child, but all that parental know-how must have skipped him because he was more often lost and aggravated. Mostly lost.

But… Nero didn’t seem to notice that. When Vergil didn’t know what to do or say, Nero didn’t judge him. Nero didn’t know that his father never knew his birthday. Nero didn’t know that Vergil had intended to let him die. His son waddled about Vergil’s apartment in comfortable bliss, babbling and smiling and calling Vergil “dada”. No matter how terrible Vergil was compared to other parents, at least Nero seemed genuinely happy.

That was what really mattered. 


	5. Losing the Light

Nero was building a tower. Rather, he was supervising Vergil who had to finish the tower because Nero was too short to add the finishing touches. Vergil would place a cup on top and Nero would hand him another; each hand held one plastic cup, including his spectral hands because the more Nero practiced the more he discovered ways to use his claws to his advantage. They had started with pots and pans as a base. If they kept going like this, the top would be thimbles. 

A knock at the front door. One miscalculated position. The entire tower toppled over in a cacophony of plastic dishware. 

“Ut-oh!” Nero exclaimed once the pieces settled.

Vergil prepared for the boy to burst into hysterics. Instead, Nero raised his hands and claws in the most un-menacing of menacing ways. He began stomping around the mess.

“Grr! Raar! Aaaah!” He kicked cups out of his way, save for one he bent over to pick up and shake passionately in the air. “Owh no! Aaa-BOOM!”

Vergil snorted. Another knock echoed through the apartment. 

“Alright, Godzilla.” Vergil caught Nero’s attention at least long enough to give him instructions. “Wait here in your room.”

“Oh-kay Dada.” Nero nodded and then went back to terrorizing Tokyo. 

Closing Nero’s door behind him tightly, Vergil walked to the entryway. He pulled his hair back and threw on an overcoat. Despite not intending to go anywhere, he still thought he should look presentable, even though the unexpected company was very unlikely to be anyone he  _ wanted _ to see. 

Peeking through the peephole confirmed that much. There stood a shadowy figure, doing as shadowy figures often did - projecting mystery and malice and not at all embarrassed by the fact they looked like their unskilled mothers sewed their cloaks. This one even looked like it emitted shadow itself, with wispy strands of purple-black leaking through the holes in the fabric. Vergil could feel its aura through the door. He opened it.

“You missed your appointment.” The figure sounded almost human, but only just. “It is not like you to be so discourteous.”

Vergil leveled the visitor a long stare. “I had to re-prioritize.”

“That is unacceptable.” The visitor droned. “You did not return our messages.”

“I was preoccupied.” Vergil explained curtly, smirking maliciously.

“That is also unacceptable.” The figure’s tone didn’t change at all. 

“I don’t believe I asked if it was.” Vergil replied with a shrug.

The visitor stayed quiet. Vergil couldn’t tell if it was actually at a loss for words or merely processing its next move. It could have been merely a pawn receiving direction from somewhere beyond. That was likely, and the fact they knew where he lived meant he would have to move soon. 

“Tell your master I’m no longer interested in his offer.” Vergil broke the silence. 

“If you hope to obtain the power of-”

“I’m a Son of Sparda,” He interrupted the pawn. “I’ll find my way in on  _ my _ schedule.”

Another pause. And then the visitor bowed their head, if they even had one.

“Very well. He rescinds your obligations.” They finally agreed.

Obligation had never bound Vergil. He left that unsaid. Stepping back into his apartment, Vergil closed the door. He turned away, taking a few steps further inside. The aura of the visitor did not diminish. Vergil sighed. He pulled Yamato out of its dimensional pocket space. The front door burst forth, snapping off of its hinges. Vergil whirled around and cut it in half, sending the pieces flying off on either side of him. 

Leaping through the newly empty frame, the visitor swung at Vergil with its own wisp-like sword. Vergil dodged and swung back, only to miss. The hood fell back from the visitor’s head, revealing an inky visage with radiant blue orbs for eyes. The structure of the face was nearly familiar. Vergil’s own smile seethed back at him. A doppelganger. 

The battle continued through the apartment, leading through the dining room and into the living room. Furniture broke to pieces in the fray. Not that Vergil cared, but the noise would undoubtedly alarm Nero.  _ That _ was the genuine risk. 

He knew demons such as this would crave power. It would normally have no use for a toddler, even one as strong as Nero. But his son could be used to gain an advantage over Vergil - a ransom he’d have to pay if the demon didn’t outright kill its enemy’s offspring out of spite. He had to draw the fight outside somehow.

“DADA!” Nero screamed from his bedroom door, likely having thrown it open to investigate the noise.

Vergil’s pulse plummeted. The doppelganger’s attention snapped toward the child. Taking the distraction, Vergil struck Yamato through the demon’s chest. It howled and snarled, turning back to Vergil. Its hand closed around the blade and drew it out, even with Vergil gripping the handle tight.

“First you.” The demon’s voice crackled with angry energy, no longer trying to sound human. “And once I have your body, we shall  _ eat _ the tiny snack.”

“I will rend you into nothing.” Vergil snarled back, shoving and twisting until his sword until it came free.

“And I shall suck the marrow from the little one’s bones!” The demon decreed gleefully as it swung its shadowy mockery of Yamato.

Vergil avoided the slash but found himself caught by the demon’s hand grasping around his throat. It swept his legs, and he felt hard onto the floor. Climbing over him, it stabbed the sword down through his chest, barely missing his heart as it broke through his bones and muscle. It stung. It burned. The black demon’s shadow soaked into his blood and lit his body on fire from the inside.

A flash of blue. Nero screaming, crying. Vergil caught sight of Nero, a tiny blur, as he leapt onto the doppelganger and clawed at its face. First with his hands, then with his wings. Nero’s demon arm glowed brightly, pulsating. 

The demon growled in annoyance. It snatched Nero up by his left arm. Nero let out a pained, terrified shriek. He flailed and kicked with all his might.

“What is this?” The demon inclined its head, observing Nero’s right arm as it flailed in the air. “Pretty thing. Perhaps I shall detach and keep it.”

Nero grabbed onto the demon’s arm and lifted himself just enough to bite down hard. No fangs. The demon still winced. 

It seethed. It reeled its arm back. It threw the boy across the room. 

Nero smashed through a window.

Vergil saw blue. 

Then red.

Then nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been known to hang on a cliff or two.


	6. Waking Up

Hearts beating. Blood particles in the air. Vergil caught the scent. His. _Nero’s_. 

The doppelganger. Tiny tooth-marks that pierced just enough. Vergil’s claws - enormous and new and itching - latched on and tore off all that he grasped. An entire arm came away, and the demon shrieked. Black blood like stinking tar sprayed across Vergil’s scales. Scales? Where had those come from?...

Didn’t matter. He grabbed the demon’s shadow-soaked head. His rough palm covered its borrowed face. Vergil screamed. His hand gripped tighter. He learned the doppelganger had a skull - it cracked in his hand like an eggshell. 

The demon cried. It writhed and screamed, begging to be bound; apologizing for killing Vergil’s offspring and promising an eternity of service as recompense.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” 

Vergil crushed until it stopped speaking. It dissipated. It laughed.

More. 

Vergil felt them all around. Little pawns, each come to claim him. Each a delay to Nero’s rescue, if the boy even lived.

He used to have a headache. It was gone now. 

Vergil would slaughter _everything_.

\---

He felt cold. It was dark. Alone. Blood dried and flaking off his soft hands. Salt on the air. Footsteps on sand. Everything hurt.

He felt warm.

\---

“Dada?” A soft, sobbing voice and tiny hands on his face. “Morning, Dada.”

Crying.

“Morning _now_ , Dada.”

Little hands hitting his face. Little claws scratching and drawing blood. 

Vergil’s eyes opened, wide and pained against the daylight. He reached and found Nero’s hands. He turned and saw his son. Sitting up against the aches coursing through his body, Vergil threw off the cover that draped over him. He grabbed Nero up and held him tight.

“Nero!” He choked, throat dry but soft as a rush of emotion flooded his chest.

Nero laughed and held him back. So strong. Vergil could almost laugh, too, just from the relief flooding him. After a few long moments he had to pry Nero away, so he could look the toddler over.

He was perfect. Not a bruise or scratch on his skin. His clothes were torn up and dirty, though. Bloodstains dotted the fabric, now dark brown in color from age. (Vergil’s own clothes were mysteriously intact.) If Nero had been hurt, he must have healed. Vergil had never felt more thankful for his demonic genetics.

“Dada, owie.” Nero whimpered softly, reaching up to Vergil’s face again and touching the spot where his claw broke skin. “Sowwy.” 

At that, Vergil _laughed_. He had far worse pains in his muscles and joints. That Nero was so concerned about the tiny scratch he caused was amusing... and warming. He held Nero again, cradling and swaying him gently side-to-side like he’d learned to calm the boy after a frightful dream.

That’s how this all had felt - a nightmare. The last coherent memory Vergil recalled was seeing Nero defenestrated, plummeting from their apartment window. After that was a blur of rage and violence. He knew he fought. He knew he killed. How he got from point A to B was a mystery, though.

Glancing around, Vergil realized he wasn’t even close to home. They were on some island? No, an atoll. Far and away warmer, sunnier, and more remote than the city. How did he end up there? How did _Nero_?

Vergil examined his near surroundings closer. At his side lay the covering that he’d flung away when he woke up. He grabbed it with one hand, keeping the other arm around Nero. Quickly he realized it wasn’t a blanket but a red leather jacket. Vergil’s heartbeat shuddered.

“Fwiend.” Nero explained, bending to slap a hand against the jacket. “Wed fwiend help Newo. Help Dada.”

“ _Dante_ .” Vergil _knew_. “Why?”

Nero tilted his head curiously. “Dada big! Scawy! Dada _Gawdziwa_!”

Vergil watched as Nero did his best to tell the story, using his biggest, most dramatic gestures and sound effects. It was still difficult to interpret, especially with his mind still swimming as it was. Still, he let Nero explain, intending to unpack it all for himself later after they got home. If they still even had a home to go back to. 

Standing up, Vergil brought the jacket up with him. He dusted the beach sand off of it. He ran his fingers over the material. It felt like his brother; not by touch but by that aural scent that had always set them apart from human and demon alike. Vergil could not bring himself to reconcile, knowing that Dante would reject Vergil’s ideas on humanity from the way he obviously shunned his demonhood. Still, he’d kept track of his little brother from a distance. He hadn’t expected Dante to be doing the same.

He let out a slow, soft sigh. He put the jacket on.

“Let’s go home, Nero.” Vergil reached a bloodied hand to his son.

Nero grinned brightly and held his father’s hand tight. 


	7. Your Hand In Mine

“Get down here.”

“No!”

“Nero. Get down. _Now._ ”

“No! Dun wanna baff!” 

“It’s not up for debate, little demon.”

“No baff!”

Vergil groaned. He stared up at the ceiling beam high above, where his son dangled upside down like a bat while using his spectral claws to hold tight. Buying a two-story house with an extra tall living room was a mistake.

They had to move after the doppelganger incident months previously. His old apartment was destroyed. After paying for the exorbitant damage, Vergil decided they needed to leave town anyway. New beginnings and all that. It would be easier to start over with a clean slate in a place where the neighbors hadn’t witnessed him go full demon and kill a reported dozen other demons before a certain devil hunter swooped in before things got tragic. 

The new house was a nice, quiet place to raise a family - so said the real estate agent. She probably hadn’t accounted for a hybrid demon father with a very rambunctious 2 year-old that liked to literally climb the walls. There were chocolate handprints on the walls and ceiling. Nero needed a bath.

Vergil picked up Meow-Meow from the floor, careful not to squeeze too tight and tear the already fraying arm joint he’d sewn back into place twice now. Poor girl had seen a lot of aggressive adoration. He put her up to his ear.

“Hm? Oh, no, Nero says he’s not taking a bath tonight.” Vergil spoke solemnly to the stuffed cat. “Yes, I know you don’t want him to hug you with sticky hands, but he completely refuses.”

“Meow-Meow?” Nero whimpered from the ceiling and reached out to make grabbing motions. “Gimme!”

“We’ll just have to reschedule,” Vergil continued his business with Nero’s favorite toy. “Yes, story time is right out as well. Guess he’ll just have to sleep on the ceiling, so he doesn’t get his bed all dirty. Oh, you want to stay with me tonight? Well, I suppose…”

“No Meow-Meow!” Nero shouted and - right on cue - dropped from the beam.

Vergil laughed and caught Nero in his arms. Getting a little melted chocolate on his shirt was a worthy sacrifice to get Nero back on schedule. Besides, Vergil supposed it was his own fault for giving the boy cake for dessert.

“Meow-Meow will wait right here until you finish your bath,” Vergil explained as he gently plopped the toy onto the sofa.

“Okaaaay,” Nero whined a bit and waved bye-bye as they walked away.

It was always a little amusing how much of a fuss Nero made about bathing, since once he was actually in the tub he enjoyed every minute. He had his toys and the little tablets that changed the water color and even special body wash that worked like finger paint on the tile walls. Bath time took _forever_ , but Vergil had made peace with that. It was an accidentally educational experience; he mused while Nero drew animals on the wall and expertly said all their names out loud. 

After bath time, Vergil helped Nero dry off. He didn’t have to help the boy get into his pajamas anymore. Nero scoffed at any suggestion that he couldn’t do it himself, even if it took him a few tries to get the buttons on his shirt. He still needed help to brush his hair and teeth. Soon, though, he’d get the hang of that. 

Watching Nero grow was exciting. A little heartbreaking, too.

One day he wouldn’t need help with anything.

Vergil scooped Nero up and laid him with his belly on his shoulder. Nero squealed with laughter and stuck his arms out like an airplane while they walked through the house. There was a minor layover in the living room to collect a VIP passenger (Meow-Meow) and then a direct flight to Nero’s bedroom. Vergil crash-landed on Nero’s bed. Everyone survived. 

He read a little from “The Secret Garden”, stopping long enough on the illustrations so that Nero could babble about what he thought. The boy seemed in awe of all the intricately painted flowers. Vergil couldn’t decide if Nero would enjoy gardening or painting. Maybe they would try both.

Once Nero was tucked in and dozing off, Vergil quietly set the baby monitor and went into his office. This one was larger than the one in the apartment. He liked the bookshelves set into the walls. He had a larger desk, too. The chair was leather. Draped across the back of it was Dante’s jacket. 

It’d been months.

Again Vergil grabbed the jacket and then sat in the chair with it on his lap. Things had to change. Change had come anyway, with or without his realizing it. After the doppelganger attack, though, Vergil recognized that he had to make a choice. He couldn’t hope to continue working the way he did and expect to keep his son safe in the process. Dealing with underground forces - sometimes the _actual_ Underworld - would always foster a certain amount of risk. Having a family was like painting a target on yourself. Vergil had to make a choice.

Vergil still needed power, to protect Nero, but he had to find another way. He also needed an income, to support Nero. In that, he also had to find another way.

He ran his fingers over Dante’s jacket.

He sighed. 

Vergil couldn’t trust humanity any more than he could trust a demon. At the end of the day, it had been a human behind the attack. It had been a human that tried to betray him - never mind the fact Vergil himself had intended to turn on Arkham, had he stuck to his plans. Call that the hallmark of his own human instincts. 

Humans were willing to pay others to do their dirty work, though. There was an entire legal profession for devil hunting. Sure, Vergil had dealt with selling demonic artifacts under the table for far more money, but that business was also more dangerous in many respects. Making a living hunting couldn’t possibly be as profitable, but it was _mostly_ honest. Moderately safer, for a half-demon family man.

There was a paper in the left side pocket; folded and unfolded so many times by now he wore it soft. Vergil unfolded it yet again and looked over the number scrawled across it. Undoubtedly left on purpose. Dante was hopeful enough Vergil would call but skittish enough to leave once Vergil was coming back to consciousness. If their roles were reversed, would Vergil had even helped his brother at all?

No.

Vergil picked up the phone on his desk. He dialed in the number. He almost forgot to breathe when he heard his brother’s sing-song voice answer.

“Devil May Cry.”

“I’d like to return your jacket,” Vergil replied quietly. “Little brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! I'm sorry I haven't replied to all your wonderful comments, but I adore EVERY LAST ONE! (I spend like all day refreshing so I can read them aaaah.)
> 
> I really had fun writing this AU. Maybe I'll write more in it sometime. I just adore Baby Nero and Dada Vergil to pieces.


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